Akita
by Kusari-Gama 61602
Summary: An attempt to flesh out Junko Akita as a character. Based off of 'Master and Apprentice Vol. 2' but is QUITE different. AU. Storm/Junko.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **For those of you who have read 'Master and Apprentice Volume 2,' you've probably noticed that Junko is - to put it lightly - not very well-developed as a character. There's a lot of instances in the series where her actions or the events just don't make sense (like becoming a geisha to avenge her parents' deaths instead of trying to become a samurai or something). Thus, I've decided to try and fill in the holes in her characterization. So if you're a big BIG fan of M&A II Junko and will get offended by her change of past, personality, or intentions, then perhaps you're better off reading something else.

Also please remember that this is an attempt to flesh her out_, _meaning that her way of thinking and actions at the beginning will not be the same as at the end.

* * *

It did not make sense.

_None _of it made sense.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be over her parents' deaths. Hyata was supposed to mean nothing to her. She was supposed to still be in the building, chatting with the clients for the night. And yet she wasn't.

Why?

Because Hyata had led her into his private office. Because he had laid his hand on her cheek like he had at her father's funeral. Because she had _panicked._

The small dagger she always carried had never been meant for use this way. It was for protection - for an emergency. There had been stories on the news of geisha being stalked and sometimes grabbed at while on the street. When the _okaasan _of her house declared that they couldn't afford a security escort, Junko had taken her safety into her own hands and obtained a forearm sheath. It was small, easily hidden, and gave her a sense of security, even if she remembered little to nothing on how to properly use it.

Cursing quietly to herself, Junko frantically started hacking away at her kimono with the dagger, trying her best to ignore the warm, sticky blood of her victim on her hand and the blade. Why she'd taken the weapon from the man's body, she didn't know. She could hear shouting behind her, followed by the dreaded words, "THERE! She's over there!"

Her head felt light with sickness and panic, and her legs almost gave away. A final slash, and a puddle of silk fell behind her. A part of her - probably the part that couldn't believe this was happening - felt guilty about the ruined kimono. The damn thing was expensive.

She had only managed to slice off half of one layer, but it was enough to give her legs more space. She ran faster as she grabbed and tugged at the various pins and ornaments in her hair. She flung them behind her without looking, and heard a yakuza curse as a pin hit him in the face.

Still quietly cursing, Junko continued hacking away at her dress. Although she had always admired the geisha dress, currently, it was her worst enemy. Not only was it practically impossible to run in, but the silk was thick and hard to cut through.

She screamed when a hand clamped down on her arm and made a wild slash behind her with the dagger. The blade connected with flesh, and she felt warmth on her hand. The grip on her arm loosened.

Her stomach roiled at the pained cry that followed, but she kept on running. _I'm going to die. I'm going to die._ The words repeated themselves over and over in her head. It brought back memories of that fateful day, the dagger in her mother's chest. It was like the intervening years hadn't happened. She was fifteen again and they were right there, out for her blood. And this time they'd seen her. Junko wasn't afraid of dying; she'd come to accept the fact that she was going to eventually. But it was an abstract, peaceful death. Anything to do with the yakuza brought that same terror into her throat. She knew how they tortured and _slaughtered_ people.

Headlights suddenly filled her vision, and she heard the screech of tires. "Sorry, sorry!" she blurted as she hurried across the street. Too late, her mind piped up that being hit by a car would be a quicker death than at the hands of the yakuza.

Tommy blinked in confusion and surprise as he watched a dozen or so men run after the woman with the tattered dress. After a second of contemplation, he decided that a bedraggled-looking woman chased by a man wasn't an unusual sight in this big city, however disgusting the reality was. But by _that_ _many_ men? Good grief, either the woman had done something to royally piss them off, or she just so happened to be at the wrong place at a _very _wrong time.

He stayed where he was, with a foot on the ground to steady his motorcycle. It would be absolutely wrong to leave, but at the same time, he didn't exactly think of himself as the hero type. He could call the police, but they wouldn't be able to get here in time. But if he saved the woman, he would have to deal with her after the confrontation.

The sound of bodies being hit reached his ears, and his blood briefly ran cold before he heard a harsh male grunt. Interesting. He pulled his motorcycle to the side and went to investigate.

Tommy had been in a lot of fights and battles, and he knew how instantaneous his actions could become when he had adrenaline running through his veins. Every move was pure reflex; there was absolutely no time to think. For someone in a torn dress with strands of hair flying everywhere, the woman was fighting back well. To any other person, she might have appeared to be actually winning, but Tommy's ears and experience told a completely different story.

The woman had absolutely _no idea what she was doing_. She stumbled, looked around frantically, and let out a short yelp every now and then whenever a man charged at her. Her heart-rate was through the roof, and her eyes were wide with panic and fear. It was obvious she was out of shape and had never been in a real fight before.

And yet... she wasn't _bad_. At least it was clear she had had _some _form of martial arts training in the past. With help, she could improve greatly. And the Arashikage badly needed more members...

When a kick to the ribs sent the woman sprawling to the ground, Tommy snapped out of his musings and stepped into the alleyway. "HEY!" Several heads turned to look at him. He noticed the tattoos peeking out from under their collars. Yakuza, huh? That cleared things up a bit. Sort of. "What's the deal here?"

"None of your business," one of them spat as he brandished a knife. "Move along."

Tommy leaned against a wall and crossed his arms. "Yeah, I don't think so. Tell me, I'm curious - what did this woman do to get-" He paused as his eyes darted around, counting. "-fourteen of you to go after her?"

"I said none of your damn business." Knife guy started approaching. "Scram, before I cut your intruding face wide open."

"It was a _simple _question." Tommy rolled his eyes. "Jeesus, why are questions like these so _difficult_ for some people to answer? Maybe that kick she gave you knocked loose a few brain cells."

"Wise guy, huh?" The man sneered. "You're going to pay for that!" He thrust his knife at Tommy. Or at least where he thought he was.

Junko was in more pain than she had ever experienced in her life. She gasped for breath, yet every motion brought on a wave of pain in her side. With a sense of dread, she decided that the yakuza who kicked her had done more damage than she thought.

She closed her eyes, half-begging for death to come and half-wishing for her parents to materialize in front of her and make things alright.

An unconscious man tumbled beside her, forcing her to open her eyes. What was going on? She couldn't quite see. All she saw were... motions, then bodies slumping or flying to the floor. Blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision, she made out a human form sort of... disappearing and materializing between the yakuza like a ghost.

How strange. A supernatural being coming to her aid. Perhaps her parents were coming for her after all. She watched, blank-faced, as the form weaved and flew before her eyes.

Then, as quickly as it had started, the fight was over. Thirteen unconscious bodies lay scattered in the alleyway as Tommy pulled the last yakuza up. "Perhaps you can answer what your buddy failed to."

The man went white. "She killed our boss in his own office! We were just trying to avenge him, that's all!" he blurted.

Tommy grinned. "Thanks for the info." He pinched a sleeping point on the man's arm before carefully lowering him to the ground.

With the fight over, an uncomfortable silence filled the air. Tommy found himself trying to look at and away from the woman at the same time. It was obvious that, during the scuffle, the men had grabbed at her torn dress in efforts to keep her still and ended up ripping pieces of it off. Although she was still more or less covered, the amount of exposed skin did not help to make the situation less awkward.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy slowly walked over to the shaking woman. "Hey... um... are you alright?" He asked lamely, despite already knowing the answer.

"No, I'm n-not alright." Well, there was his answer. "I-I can't... n-no, I cannot-" She was stuttering and couldn't get much out.

Tommy listened patiently for a few minutes. It did no good. All he got was that something was gone, and it had deeply affected her. She was a trembling, crying mess on the ground, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He couldn't just leave her - that would leave her to the mercy of the police or any more incoming yakuza. The yakuza would kill her, and the police would arrest her for murder. Either way, it was a waste of potential.

But he'd be utterly lying to himself if he said he liked being in this position. He wasn't used to comforting people, especially those crying or in shock. It wasn't his specialty; in fact, part of his job description _involved_ shocking people or make them cry.

He should have thought this through more carefully. This was a horrible approach.

He kneeled on the ground to appear less intimidating and licked his lips before speaking, "Look, I know you're scared, but you need to stay calm. Do you hear me? You have to stay cal-"

At that moment, Junko made the bad choice of looking at her blood-covered hand. She started swiping her hand on the shreds of her dress in a futile attempt to get rid of the blood. "Hey! Calm down, you'll make it worse." Tommy stilled her wrist and inspected her hand. He had been expecting an injury of some kind, but there was none. The skin on her knuckles was a little peeled, but not enough to cause bleeding.

Sighing, he wished for his aunt. She would know what to do.

He glanced upwards at the moon. It was getting late. They had to move. At least the woman wasn't crying anymore, just whimpering and staring at him with glassy eyes. He fought the urge to groan. At the way things were going, he was starting to regret his decision to intervene. Maybe he should knock her out and carry her to the nearest hospital. That could work, until the police decided to look there.

A hand on his knee made him look down. "Who..." her voice came out as a weak, grainy whisper, and she cleared her throat before trying again. "Who are you?"

He paused for a second. "You may call me Thomas. Can you stand?"

She gave him a blank look before nodding hesitantly. "Thomas," she pronounced with some difficulty.

"Or Tommy. Up to you." He watched as she began the slow process of getting her feet under her. She raised her head, took one look at the bodies strewn around, and paled.

"Not dead, not dead, not dead," Tommy said hurriedly, grabbing her arm as her knees buckled. "They're not dead. Just knocked out."

Junko stared open-mouthed at him, then back to the yakuza, then back to him. "Did you...?"

"... Maybe. Do you have a place to go? Friend's house, maybe? Or a relative's?" She shook her head. "No? Alright. Uhh... home, maybe?" He noticed the ruined white makeup on her face and the pins left in her sweat-matted hair. Nobody wore those unless... "Or is home not a preferable option?"

She shook her head again.

"Right, then. Well... I can take you somewhere safe, but only if you trust me."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how stupid he sounded. The chances of her trusting him after seeing him take down more than a dozen yakuza were slim to none. And he wouldn't be surprised if his offer to take her to safety made her highly suspicious of him.

She blinked several times, gazing at him, before slowly nodding her head.

Never mind, then. Forget physical injuries - maybe her brain had taken a harder blow than he thought. "Can you walk?"

Another nod, then, wrapping her arms around herself, she took a few steps. Tommy nodded approvingly before slipping out of his jacket and draping it across her shoulders. She obviously wasn't prepared for the weight, and gasped.

He watched her wince, favoring one side. Broken rib, probably. "Relax. Nothing sets off an alarm like a disheveled woman dressed in bloody rags. Put it on."

Shaking a little, she obeyed. The jacket was warm and unusually heavy. When she patted around in confusion, Tommy reached into unseen pockets and pulled out a considerable number of sharp, pointy objects. "Sorry." With care, he separated the weapons and shoved them in compartments on the motorcycle.

All Junko could do was stare in surprise. She could have sworn she saw a shuriken, like in those museum exhibits. Nobody used those. That said something about him, she just couldn't think-

Tommy firmly grabbed the handles on his motorcycle and lifted the kickstand. "Let's go."

"Aren't we r-riding?" she asked as she hurried to keep up with him. Her side protested, and she had to keep herself from grimacing.

"No."

"Why not?"

He looked at her as if she'd suggested they jump off a skyscraper. "If you pass out while walking next to me, at least I can catch you. If you pass out while we're on a motorcycle going forty kilometers an hour, there's not much I can do to keep you from falling, is there?"

Ducking her head, Junko continued walking in silence. Her mind still felt a bit fuzzy from the events of the night and her side throbbed. It was hard to imagine that, just a few hours ago, all she had to look forward to for the day was keeping the clients entertained with banter. Now she was following a stranger to who-knows-where. She supposed it was an idiotic choice on her part, but at the moment, she wanted nothing more than curl up, fall asleep and forget about everything.

Clutching the front of the jacket close to her chest, she muttered a quiet plea for her parents to watch out for her. In front of her, Tommy's grip on the handlebars tightened slightly as he listened.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, her bed felt comfortable. When was it _ever _this comfortable? Junko pulled the blankets tighter around herself, enjoying the warmth and sense of safety they gave her. Exhaling softly, she turned her head to nuzzle her pillow.

Her strangely squishy pillow.

She jerked upwards, and gave a small cry when her side objected to the movement with a bolt of pain. Gasping for relief and blinking rapidly to relieve her dry eyes, she pushed down on the pillow.

Several things were noticeably wrong. The pillow she slept on at the geisha house wasn't white. Nor was it as big or soft. That let to one conclusion; she was _definitely _not at the geisha house.

Still sluggish with sleep, she propped herself up with an arm and tried to make sense of her surroundings. Where the hell was she, and how come she had no memory of crawling into this bed and falling asleep?

Just then, her body decided to make her aware that everything everywhere hurt. At the same time.

With a distressed groan, she fell back into bed with a quiet _thump. _She felt like she was going to fall apart if she moved. Had she actually managed to bruise her _entire body? _It sure felt like it. She wasn't sure if moving would ever be painless for her again. Even lifting a finger was uncomfortable.

Blankly, Junko stared at the ceiling, too confused to fall back asleep but in too much pain to want to move. Her head throbbed, as if protesting at the barely-held back panic it had to contain.

She drew in a slow breath, trying her best to ignore the pain in her side. Calm down, calm down. Once her mind was clear, she would be able to figure everything out. Then she would find a way to get out of this mess.

Okay, first things first: where was she?

... No idea. All she could see were a few dimmed lights. She groaned. So much for figuring things out.

Right, then. Moving on. Next on the list: how did she get there?

Junko chewed on her bottom lip, thinking hard. She knew this one, or at least she _knew _she knew. The answer was just momentarily escaping her mind.

An object on the bedstand caught her eye. Squinting, she rolled slowly until she could reach it. Once she got it, she stared at it.

It was a folded piece of paper.

Curious, Junko unfolded it with care and looked at the neat writing. "There's Tylenol and ointment in the bed stand drawer," it read. "Swallow two Tylenol pills with some water and apply the ointment to your skin. DO NOT EAT THE OINTMENT OR RUB THE TYLENOL ON YOUR SKIN." At the bottom, it was signed with simply, "Tommy."

Tommy. Junko flopped back on the bed. Tommy... oh, yeah, _that _Tommy.

The events of last night hit her with the force of a tsunami, making her gasp and her head spin. The awful feeling of the knife going in... in... _him_, and the numbness she felt afterwards when she realized she had killed him. Then... then... fighting, when her fear turned into adrenaline and she reacted on pure instinct.

She almost chuckled. At least that explains the soreness.

The memories became clearer every second. She remembered riding on Tommy's motorcycle. He had heard distant sirens, and even though they were very late and likely for some other crime committed in the city, he decided not to risk it. Junko had to answer about a dozen questions regarding whether she felt dizzy, or if she had enough strength to hold on, or if she was _certain_ she wasn't going to pass out on the back of the motorcycle. After receiving an answer to every question, he reluctantly got on the motorcycle and tilted it to make the mount easier for her.

The memories stopped there, fading from her mind. She must've fallen asleep at that point, or - worse - she had passed out and fallen from the motorcycle. Panic flared briefly in her chest. No, wait - that couldn't have happened. As much pain as she was in, she didn't seem to have road rash.

With a bit of effort, she stretched herself out in an attempt to bring back some mobility to her stiff limbs. Grimacing, she forced herself upright, despite her side adamantly protesting the action. Good grief, she couldn't remember being in this much pain since... since...

She shut that particular memory out. No use grieving over a father who had been dead for six years. Even memories of her most painful training sessions with him made her feel depressed with longing.

Standing up hurt a little less than she had expected. Encouraged a bit, Junko fumbled for the ointment and painkillers before slowly making her way around the room.

After each light source was turned to full brightness, she looked around. The room was... actually quite nice. It had a two-person bed, a dining table, a bookshelf, a few chairs, a couch, and a small kitchen in the corner. Only the lack of windows and the staircase to her right leading to a door tipped her off that this wasn't an ordinary dwelling.

Fear began crawling along her skin again and she stumbled up the stairs. She grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it; it didn't budge.

She was locked in.

Junko muttered curses as she worked the doorknob more. _Oh, nononono. _This was not a good situation to be in. She had heard horror stories about girls kidnapped and held in cellars by male captors who raped and tortured them. Although the room she was in was a thousand times better than the living conditions described in the stories, it didn't stop her mind from imagining all sorts of scenarios.

Her hand flew to her abdomen as dread pooled in her throat. _Shit._ What if the deed was already done? It wasn't unlikely - she'd been out for hours. There was no telling what Tommy had done to her during that time.

She felt sick as she carefully prodded her stomach. She supposed that if she had indeed been violated, her thighs and abdomen should feel sore. The problem was that, as the result of last night's fight, _everywhere _felt sore. And she wasn't exactly an expert on the effects of a physical union. She had extensive knowledge on the art of flirting and making a man desire her, but that was it; training didn't include knowing how to please a man in bed. Geisha are artists - not prostitutes. Men come to geisha houses to get their egos boosted, not to satisfy physical cravings. Those who expected the latter got kicked out.

She gave up after a few minutes. There was no way to tell - not at the moment. With that unpleasant thought tucked away in the back of her mind, Junko wandered around the room, still exploring. A little surprisingly, she found a knife in one of the drawers. Taking it with her, she peeked into the remaining door.

How convenient. A bathroom, complete with a shower. After inspecting the door and realizing it locked - thankfully - from the inside, Junko stepped into the room.

There was another note was on the counter. This one read, "Go ahead. Take a shower. Just remember to lock the door. Bandages are in the medicine cabinet. Be sure to redress your wounds once you come out." The note was signed, as expected, by "Tommy."

Junko set the note down and looked into the small mirror provided. She almost flinched. She looked like the ghost of a murder victim. Her hair was a mess, with parts of it still held to her head by pins. Her white makeup was smeared all over the place, and she was still wearing her bloodstained, tattered dress. The image made her want to throw up. After quickly locating the bandages and triple checking to make sure the door was locked, she stepped into the shower.

* * *

Tommy entered the room, locking the door behind him before descending the stairs. He could hear the shower running; looks like the woman was up and about. That was good news, he supposed. At least she wasn't curled up in bed, staring off into nowhere.

He set the bags down on the dining table and began emptying them. The Arashikage had simple rules about staying at safe houses: leave the place cleaner than when you arrived, and restock the food and medical supplies in case the next occupant is forced to stay low for a few days. In Tommy's case, it would have been preferable to stay out of sight for a day or so, but the previous occupant had been a complete idiot and decided to restock the entire food supply with instant ramen. So, Tommy had to do a bit of grocery shopping. He resolved to give the clan a review of proper survival food at some point.

Just as he placed a can of tea leaves in one of the cupboards, the shower turned off and the door swung open with the faintest creak. Wisely, he kept his back to the bathroom. There was a high chance she didn't know he was here, and the last thing he wanted to do was to be looking at her when she finally noticed his presence. Startled people did weird things, like dropping whatever was in their hands. In her case, it could be the towel. Not good.

Turns out, it was the right choice to make. The woman gave a short shriek, then there was the sound of awkward fumbling and an elbow hitting the door frame, followed by a shaky, "T-Tommy!"

"Good morning, or afternoon, since it's three o'clock." He pulled a bottle of honey from the last bag and set it on the table.

"H-how...?"

"It's hard to hear in the shower, so it's not surprising you didn't hear me." The bags were rolled up and placed in a bin. "I just came in. You had a restful sleep, I hope?" He looked over his shoulder.

His breath caught a little. The woman standing a few feet away looked almost nothing like the shaking mess he saved the night before. Gone were the white make-up, hairpins, and dead gaze, replaced with a youthful face, long wet hair, and a shocked expression. After a second, he decided that she was pretty. Not surprising, considering her occupation, but pretty nonetheless.

He almost chuckled. His twenty year-old self would have gladly taken his place if it weren't for the preceding events.

Junko backed up into the bathroom and grabbed the knife she had found earlier. With caution, she slowly made her way to the bed. Even though the towel was big enough to cover her up decently, she felt extremely exposed and embarrassed. Her clients at the geisha house didn't see much of her skin; they were lucky if she let them see her wrist. To have a man, a stranger, see all of her shoulders, arms, and legs made her want to curl up into a ball and try to forget the entire encounter.

"Put the knife down." Tommy kept his back to her. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would've already done it. Plus, you're not even holding it correctly."

She froze. Then, with care, she set the knife down on the bedstand, where she could reach it should he suddenly change his mind. She slowly sat on the bed and started applying ointment to the bruises that were starting to appear over her arms. _Great. I'm going to turn blue_, she thought wryly as she concentrated on the motions.

Eventually, unpleasant thoughts began worming their way into her mind. Half of her was being dragged back to last night - back to the death of Hyata - and the other half was forced to stay and be wary of the man in the room she knew was capable of killing her if he wanted to.

Junko rubbed her face. She could feel a headache coming on. Despite the long sleep she'd gotten, she felt exhausted. Drained. Conflicted between wanting to look into the past and needing to stay in the present.

There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Tommy had long since finished restocking, so he was now rearranging the canned foods and bandages to avoid having to turn around. More minutes passed, with not a peep from her, so he finally asked, "Do you need clothes?"

"Yeah."

Wow, her first coherent, calm word.

Tommy walked over to a shopping bag laying on the couch. "I don't know your size, so I just bought you a t-shirt and sweatpants." He tossed the bag towards her. It landed on the bed in front of her.

"Thank you." Junko took the bag with her back into the bathroom and locked the door. Breathing a small sigh of relief that made her wince as her side acted up, she began going through the contents of the bag.

There was a t-shirt and sweatpants, as promised, along with slippers, a pair of sunglasses, and a bunch of hair-ties. Mindful of her side, she painstakingly slipped into the clothes. The shirt and sweatpants were a little big, but there was nothing that could be done about that. After combing her hair with her fingers, she tied it back with a hair-tie and looked in the mirror.

She almost smiled. When was the last time she'd wandered around with lazily-made hair and oversized comfortable clothes? She couldn't remember - it was too long ago.

Tommy was lying on the couch with eyes closed when she emerged from the bathroom. _So there's where he slept last night. _She felt a little relieved, but at the same time skeptical. He didn't _look _like a rapist, but most men didn't. After the shower, she was pretty sure she hadn't been touched, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen.

She quietly made her way to the bed and sat down on it, looking at Tommy. He looked like he was asleep, but she couldn't be too sure. Still... he looked quite relaxed - peaceful, even.

Junko studied his face carefully. He looked to be about in his late-twenties, maybe early-thirties. There were faint frown lines on his face, along with a small scar high on his right cheek. He had a muscular build (she noted as she felt her cheeks heat up) and his right forearm was wrapped in bandages. An injury, perhaps, or a scarring he didn't want anybody to see.

A man with a risky job, she decided. Possible bodyguard. Maybe former soldier. She didn't have too much experience with those types. They usually couldn't afford to be entertained by geisha for the night.

Tommy cracked open an eyelid when the young woman finally moved from her position and headed towards the stove, where canned soup was being heated up. Her heart-rate had smoothed out a bit, which was good.

He closed his eyes again. For someone who had killed for the first time just yesterday, she had a surprisingly stable mind. Or it just meant she was going to have a mental breakdown later. He was fully expecting the latter. He had even bought tissues in case the breakdown included tears.

There was still no telling how she would do as a potential Arashikage trainee. She was handling pain well, for one thing, so she had that going for her. However, she was quite thin- almost all skin and bones. Building muscles was going to take some time.

He silently yawned and turned his head to the side before closing his eyes. He had only gotten three hours of sleep last night, having spent the majority of the time locating and bandaging her wounds.

A small nap wouldn't hurt. He needed it anyways. But before he drifted off, he slipped the key to the door out of his pocket and placed it on the sofa armrest, next to his head. After all, she had the right to change her mind and could be afraid to make that choice if he was awake.

But if she did decide to leave, he wanted the key back after.


	3. Chapter 3

Junko turned the key over in her hand, inspecting it. It looked and worked like a normal key - she knew because she had tried it on the door and it had unlocked - but she was still half-expecting it to blow up in her face.

She looked at Tommy, who was still blissfully asleep on the couch. Either he had set out the key as a trap or he was much dumber than she had originally thought. Since nothing had happened when she took the key and unlocked the door, she decided it was the latter.

Sighing, she set it down on the table, next to the empty bowl and spoon. She felt a lot better now that her stomach was filled with hot soup, but a full belly and a currently-harmless man meant that her present was taken care of, so there was little stopping her mind from slipping into the past.

Junko stayed still, eyes on the ground, as she replayed Hyata's death over and over in her head. All the details were there - the tension in the air, the way she'd just completely... lost it when she felt his hand on her cheek, the blinding anger and the almost-satisfied thrill that ran through her as she saw the horror in his eyes and she drove the blade into his chest-

Her thoughts stopped. She drew in a slow, shaky breath. No. No, no, no. Wait, no. This wasn't right. She was supposed to feel... What was she supposed to feel? Guilty? Remorseful?

She slowly stood up - the movement made less painful by the ointment and warm muscles - and began pacing the room. Her knuckles were pale as she wrung her hands nervously. This wasn't normal. She was supposed to feel deeply ashamed that Hyata was dead. And yet... she wasn't. There was a tinge of the feeling there, but it was towards the long years between her parents' deaths and his - not about her taking a human life.

"Shit," she muttered. This was it. She was starting to lose her mind. No normal person should feel pleased that they'd killed someone. No _sane_ person.

She walked over to the bed and sat down on it, hardly feeling the cool covers. Emotions mixed and stirred in her stomach, resurfacing at different times. Anger, satisfaction, fear, childish stubbornness, then back to anger. She felt conflicted; she knew her parents would highly disapprove of her actions. But _dammit_ - after countless nights of lying awake in bed, barely holding back tears as she bitterly cursed Hyata over and over again, it had felt... _beyond _cathartic to grip the handle of the blade that took his life.

Her heart pounded as she stared at her hands, lost in her own thoughts. Did this mean she was incapable of feeling empathy, just like psychopaths? No, that wasn't true. A bit of her was still reeling from the shock of having taken a life, but the rest were jumbles of extreme satisfaction and grief over her parents - fresh and brought to the front of her mind by the recent events.

Junko bit her bottom lip, a lump forming in her throat. No. She was not going to cry. She wasn't fifteen anymore. Inhaling slowly, she willed the strong emotions away. Her parents would want her to move on with life, even without them.

But she'd be lying if she claimed it didn't tear at her chest to think of them.

"Tissue?"

She almost jumped out of her skin. As a response, her side gave in to a fresh wave of pain and she almost cried out. Tommy was - obviously - awake, and was offering her a box of tissues.

Tommy blinked. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

"N-no." Hell yes, he did.

"If you say so." He shrugged before placing the box on the bed a few inches away from her. With a small sigh, he lay down on the couch again, but stared up at the ceiling instead of going back to sleep. Maybe he had never been asleep. Nobody looked that alert seconds after waking up.

Her eyes fell on the small scar on his cheek. Right. If he had a dangerous job or past, he probably had to wake up quickly.

"You're trying to place me," he said after a few minutes of silence.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Did you forget already? My name is Tommy."

"I _know _that."

"Then why do you ask?"

"Have we met before?"

"Why do you want to know?"

One of Junko's fingers twitched. "Stop answering my questions with more questions. I want to know why you saved me."

He had a small grin on. She briefly felt her blood go hot. Did he think this was some kind of a game? That she was here simply to chat? "Imagine the events of last night through my eyes. A woman dressed in rags runs in front of my motorcycle, followed by a mob of men. What would you do, if you were me?"

Junko lifted her head, not looking away from his gaze. "I would call the police."

"What if you knew the woman would be dead by the time the police arrived and you knew you were a capable fighter? Wouldn't you help the woman?"

Junko blinked. Had he just implied that she was incapable of taking care of herself? Rude. "I... suppose," she admitted. "But that doesn't give you permission to take her to a house and lock her in. You could've taken her to a hospital."

"I don't think taking a murderer to a hospital is going to increase her chance of evading arrest."

Junko froze. Her throat seized up. "H-how-"

"Your assassination and escape attempt wasn't exactly stealthy. I simply followed the trail of silk and blood back to a yakuza stronghold today." He sat up. Good grief, how could he look so _calm _in front of her? "Hyata Ryuji, huh? What did he do to you? Or are you going to make me guess?"

She stared back at him. "Guess."

"He did something to your parents," he answered without hesitation.

"How did you-"

"You were muttering about a 'mother' and 'father' under your breath while we were walking."

Her cheeks flushed. Was she really that loud? She could've sworn she had been barely audible.

Swallowing, she answered, "He killed them."

"Ah. A vendetta, then."

"No. This was not planned."

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Is that really true, or are you lying to yourself?"

"I had no intention of killing him."

"But I'm willing to bet you've thought of doing so more than once."

That made her pause. That part was true. She'd long since lost count of the number of ways she could make Hyata suffer if he ever was at her mercy. "Who wouldn't?" she whispered. "It was not yet their time to go. He _deserved _it."

He nodded. "I understand."

She was _this _close to snapping at him. How could he ever hope to understand what she was going through? He wasn't a mind-reader. There was no way he could imagine what life was like so far for her. But she kept her mouth shut. Provoking him was not in her best interest, however tempting it was at the moment.

"By the way, what's your name?"

She briefly considered giving him a false name. There was no telling what someone like him could find out about her if she gave him her name. Then again, he didn't need to know her family name, so she supposed just her first name was okay.

"Junko," she finally responded.

He nodded. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Junko."

She bowed her head. "Likewise."

Funny how they were 'acquaintances' but they stayed in the same room. Her geisha _oneesan_ would throw a fit if she ever heard that young, unmarried Junko was staying under the same roof with an older, possibly-married man. Had she still been a geisha, this would have crushed her reputation.

Junko stared at the bedsheets. Of course - she couldn't be a geisha anymore. Geisha weren't murderers; they were soft, flowing works of art. Art that Junko herself had admired for a long time until she became one. At first, it was wonderful. Praises were showered on her about her dance, her beauty, and her charm.

She'd thoroughly enjoyed it... until she realized the empty praises and exclamations were just that - empty. Her job became quite... dull. It was one night entertaining rich old guys, then another night doing the exact same thing to a new group of men. It was repetitive and boring, but it was always, always about the clients. At one point, Junko had seriously wondered if she was becoming no more than a pretty, rentable slave.

In a way, she supposed, she was glad that she wasn't a geisha anymore. She'd grown to dislike entertaining people. No more smiling flirtatiously at a man so old he could practically be her grandfather. No more polite nods and words of agreement to narcissistic clients she wanted to punch in the face.

But if she wasn't entertaining as a geisha, what else could she do?

"What now?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know. You tell me." Tommy was boiling water at the stove.

"Are you going to turn me in to the police?"

"No. If I was going to, I would have already done so." He opened one of the cabinets and took out a can of tea leaves.

"You could always change your mind," she said sourly. "Nobody sane would stay in a room with a killer for company."

He turned his head to look at her, and... was he _smiling?_ "Guess that makes us both insane, then."

It took way too long for Junko to realize what he meant. When she did, her displeased face quickly turned into a classic 'oh-shit' expression. "You've killed people."

"Yes."

Junko went silent, trying to remember the fight last night. She remembered seeing a blur dash between yakuza, knocking them out seemingly without physical contact. That was... that was Tommy. He was the shadowy figure she saw take out the yakuza effortlessly. No man could do that; those were some of Hyata's best guards!

"What _are _you?" she breathed.

He carefully measured out some tea leaves and added them to the teapot along with the hot water. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me. I'm sure I've heard worse."

Tommy took out two teacups from the cupboard and set them down on the small table. "I'm a ninja," he said casually, as if he was reporting the weather instead of his occupation.

Junko blinked. "... Huh?"

"Ninja. Shinobi. Shadow warriors. Whatever it is the general public calls us nowadays."

"... You're joking." She leaned away a little. "They disappeared centuries ago."

"Disappearing is what ninja do best." He glanced at a small, wall-mounted clock. "You still hungry? I bought noodles."

"I- no, thank you." She shook her head. "Look - I know you're a good fighter; I saw what you did last night. But _ninja?_ No, that's... that's too far-fetched."

"Suit yourself." Tommy shrugged as he opened and closed cupboards and cabinet drawers in search for ingredients. "More noodles for me."

She glared at the back of his head. "Aren't you going to say something in response about your job?"

"I just did: 'Suit yourself.'"

"... I just basically said you were lying to me and your response is simply 'suit yourself?'"

"I _told _you you wouldn't believe me." He poured her a cup of tea. "It's not like I go around announcing that I'm a ninja then doing a backflip whenever somebody shouts, 'Prove it!' If you don't believe me, fine. If you _do_ believe me, then you're either too-easily convinced or someone who has seen a ninja before."

She stared at the cup of tea, watching the steam curl upwards from it. It made sense, she supposed. He had nothing to lose by telling her his job if she didn't believe him. But did she believe him? Despite the ridiculousness of claiming to be a _ninja_, he had shown that he was an excellent fighter. Some kind of martial artist, for sure. But the ninja thing was a joke… right?

There was something else, though... something that happened after the fight. "... Wait."

"Hm?" Tommy didn't look away from the pot of boiling water.

"Last night, when you took the... the objects from the jacket I was wearing." She looked up at him. "I... I could've sworn I saw a _shuriken_."

He looked at her over his shoulder. "So?"

"Do you still have it?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"May I see it?"

He turned around. Was that an _actual_ smile on his face? "Certainly."

Junko watched in half-shock as he produced a shuriken out of nowhere and spun it mesmerizingly before holding it out to her. Eyes wide with interest, she carefully took it.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, turning it over in her hand as she inspected the blades and design.

"That one actually has dull edges." He sipped at his tea, amused by her fascination. "You may keep that one. If you'd like, I can teach you how to properly sharpen it after dinner."

The look she gave him strongly reminded him of Billy that one time his mother gave him a Snickers bar. "You mean it?" Her voice was higher than usual.

"Of course. _After _dinner - mind you - so don't get so excited yet."

Her expression fell for a moment, but she perked back up a little. "Tommy?"

"Hm?"

"May I also have some noodles?"


End file.
